


i'm drunk, i suppose

by akamine_chan



Series: The Sharpest Lives [28]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Community: anon_lovefest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poison wakes up with a hangover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm drunk, i suppose

**Author's Note:**

> Written unanonymously for the LJ community anon_lovefest
> 
> Prompt: Gerard/Party Poison, texting, text from tfln: (224): Woke up in an unfamiliar pair of underwear, running shoes but no socks, and a cowboy hat. Thank you crown royal
> 
> Warning: alcohol use, mentions of drugs
> 
> Unbeta'd. Title from _The Sharpest Lives_ by My Chemical Romance

Poison wakes up with a hangover.

No surprise; he'd partied pretty hard last night. He'd found a stash of pre-Bomb whiskey, most of which got sold on the market for a tidy profit. He'd kept a couple of bottles, mainly because it was nice to drink something that was smooth and rich and wasn't likely to cause you to go blind.

Last night, they'd been celebrating...something. Poison can't seem to pinpoint the whys; his head is pounding mercilessly. He sees flashes of memories—Jet moshing and bouncing to MGMK, Kobra trying to pickup a stellar hot crash queen, Gerard and his band on stage and playing like the maniacs they are...

He wakes up on a ratty mattress, a nest of dusty sheets wrapped around him. When he stretches, groaning at the feel of familiarly sex-sore muscles, he realizes he's wearing underwear. Something soft and silky and definitely not his. He yanks the sheets away and sure enough, they're pink and girly and yeah, _not his_. He would never wear anything with little bows on it. On his feet are the ugliest shoes he's ever seen, old-style sneakers of some sort. For running and jumping and other physical shit. They offend him with their ordinariness and he wonders who they belong to.

Poison raises both of his hands to scrub at his hair, which is sweat-matted and filthy, and he knocks something off of his head. It lands next to him on the mattress and he recoils in horror. A fucking cowboy hat. "What the fuck?" he mutters, keeping his distance from the hat. He pokes at it just to make sure he's not imagining things.

There's a snort from the corner of the room and there's Gerard, sitting in a chair, mug cradled in his hand, trying not to laugh. His hair is mostly normal, black and shaggy, but his shirt is missing most of the buttons and one sleeve is partially torn off. His pants look _much_ worse for wear. Poison doesn't get it, because Gerard doesn't drink alk, or eat pills, or snort _anything_ anymore. He was totally sober last night and still manages to look utterly debauched.

He's wearing his tiny, secret smile and that makes Poison's heart do funny things in his chest.

"Is that coffee?" Poison asks finally, crawling toward Gerard. He knows he's probably the most ridiculous thing that Gerard has ever seen, pink beribboned underpants and sneakers and nothing else except pale, pale skin, but _coffee_. He sits at Gerard's feet, looking up imploringly until Gerard relents and passes the mug down. "Thanks, baby," he murmurs, taking a slow sip. He takes in the wreckage of the room, the broken furniture, the holes punched in the walls, clothes strewn everywhere. "Some party."

Gerard hums in agreement, reaching down to pet Poison's head. "You do know how to throw 'em."

Poison just laughs softly and leans against Gerard's leg, drinking the coffee. "Remembering 'em is always the hard part."

-fin-


End file.
